Page 180 of The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time 12)

“Yes,” Aludra said. “Let us assume the Dragon has control of Caemlyn, Cairhien, Illian and Tear. If he were to provide me with access to each and every mine and metal store of copper and tin in those four cities, I suppose it would be sufficient.”

“Every metal store,” Mat said flatly.

“Yes.”

“In four of the world’s largest cities.”

“Yes.”

“And you ‘suppose’ that would be sufficient.”

“I believe that is what I said, Matrim Cauthon.”

“Great. I’ll see what I can do about that. Would you like the bloody Dark One to come polish your shoes while you’re at it? Maybe we could dig up Artur Hawkwing and get him to do a dance for you.”

Leilwin gave Mat a glare at the mention of Artur Hawkwing. After a moment, Aludra finished her annotations, then turned to regard Mat. She spoke flatly, just vaguely hostile. “My dragons, they will be a great power for a man of war. You claim what I have given you is extravagant. It is only needed.” She eyed him. “I will not lie and say I didn’t expect this dismissiveness from you, Master Cauthon. Pessimism, she is a fond friend of yours, yes?”

“That’s uncalled for,” Mat grumbled, glancing back down at the drawings. “I barely know her. Mere acquaintances, at best. You’ve got my oath on it.”

That earned a snort from Bayle. Whether it was one of amusement or derision was impossible to tell without looking back to judge his face. Mat didn’t glance at him. Aludra was staring at him. Their eyes met for a moment, and Mat realized he’d probably been too curt with her. Maybe he was uncomfortable around her. A little. They’d been getting close before Tuon. And was that pain, hidden in Aludra’s eyes?

“I’m sorry, Aludra,” he said. “I shouldn’t have talked like that.”

She shrugged.

He took a deep breath. “Look, I know that . . . well, it’s odd how Tuon—”

She waved a hand, cutting him off. “It is nothing. I have my dragons. You have brought me the chance to create them. Other matters are no longer of concern. I wish you happiness.”

“Well,” he said. He rubbed his chin, then sighed. Best to just let it pass. “Anyway, I hope I can get this done. You ask for a lot of resources.”

“These bellfounders and materials,” she said, “they are what I need. No more and no less. I have done what I can here, without resources. I will still need to spend weeks testing—we will need to make a single dragon first, to check. So you have some time to gather all of this. But it will take much time, and yet you refuse to tell me when the dragons will be needed.”

“Can’t tell you things I don’t know myself, Aludra,” Mat said, glancing northward. He felt a strange tugging, as if someone had hooked a fisherman’s line about his insides and was softly—but insistently—pulling on it. Rand, is that you, burn you? Colors swirled. “Soon, Aludra,” he found himself saying. “Time is short. So short.”

She hesitated, as if sensing something in his voice. “Well,” she said. “If that be the case, then my requests are not so extravagant, yes? If the world goes to war, the forges will soon be needed for arrowheads and horseshoes. Better to put them to work now on my dragons. Let me assure you, each one we finish will be worth a thousand swords in battle.”

Mat sighed, stood up and tipped his hat to her. “All right, then,” he said. “Fair enough. Assuming Rand doesn’t bloody burn me to a crisp the moment I suggest this, I’ll see what I can do.”

“You would be wise to show Mistress Aludra respect,” Leilwin said, eyeing Mat, speaking with that slow Seanchan drawl. “Rather than being so flippant toward her.”

“That was sincere!” Mat said. “That last part was, at least. Burn me, woman. Can’t you tell when a man’s being sincere?”

She eyed him, as if trying to decide if that very pronouncement were some kind of mockery. Mat rolled his eyes. Women!

“Mistress Aludra is brilliant,” Leilwin said sternly. “You don’t understand the gift she is giving you in these plans. Why, if the Empire had these weapons. . . .”

“Well, see that you don’t give them to it, Leilwin,” Mat said. “I don’t want to wake up one morning and find that you’ve run off with these plans in an attempt at retrieving your title!”

She looked insulted that he’d suggest such a thing, though it seemed like the logical thing to do. Seanchan had an odd sense of honor—Tuon hadn’t tried once to flee from him, though she’d had ample opportunity.

Of course, Tuon had suspected from near the beginning that she’d marry him. She’d had that damane’s Foretelling. Burn him, he wouldn’t look southward again. He wouldn’t!

“My ship is being driven by different winds now, Master Cauthon,” Leilwin said simply, turning from him and glancing at Bayle.

“But you wouldn’t help us fight the Seanchan,” Mat protested. “It seems that you’d—”

“You do be swimming in deep water right now, lad,” Bayle interjected in a soft voice. “Aye, deep water, filled with lionfish. It may be time to stop splashing so loudly.”